


Harpoon

by dixiestix



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dixiestix/pseuds/dixiestix
Summary: "All he wanted was justice to ease his ever growing anger. He deserved it. And yet, here he was, being pierced by his own malicious intent."





	

**Author's Note:**

> just a short drabble i wrote because of this piece of fanart (http://pumpkincore.deviantart.com/art/harpoons-630063779)

The world suddenly came to a halt. He didn’t have time to react, and he fucked up big time. Hot, white pain radiated on the right side of his chest, and still images began to blur and tilt. He felt himself being pulled from reality into a dreamlike haze. Thoughts came and went with each passing second, too fast to process; too fast to digest. His pitch black eyes looked down at the accusing harpoon shot through his chest, and the colossal amount of blood beginning to stain his hoodie. It was his harpoon, a weapon he had intended to use to protect himself and his friend. He would have chuckled at the irony of this context if it hadn’t hurt so much.

He looked up only to meet the eyes his initial target, looking in shocked pain at the abrupt sharp penetration of his upper body. His crimson red blood seemed to blend in with his hoodie, creating the illusion that he wasn’t actually bleeding. It was...mesmerizing in a way. He was furious with him. He wanted him to pay for what he did to his friends; to him. It wasn’t fair. All he wanted was justice to ease his ever growing anger. He deserved it. And yet, here he was, being pierced by his own malicious intent. Again, this whole situation was heavily ironic. Bittersweet humor was overlaid by his rage.

He looked up at his target’s face once more, and finally noticed the tears streaming down his face. He wanted to feel triumph, he wanted to take joy from his pain, but he couldn’t. For gods sake, why couldn’t he hate him!?! He didn’t deserve sympathy or forgiveness. He used him, he _betrayed_ him. He was finally getting to feel exactly how he felt. Why wasn’t it satisfying? Why wasn’t he happy? He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand _him_. He sighed, even though it pained his chest severely. He needed a drink; badly. He could feel himself slipping away. The pain in his chest was fading like a distant memory. A misty fog washed over him, and the sound of an ambulance seemed drowned out as if he were underwater. This is what he got for trying to be the hero.


End file.
